Battlecry of a War Horse
by jhm.59
Summary: Told from the point of view of Col. Tavington's horse, Asmodeus, beginning from when he was taken from his mother. Not sure how far I will go with this; I was originally planning to just go until he meets Tavington, but we will see. I OWN NO ONE FROM THE PATRIOT.
1. Chapter 1

What was I doing here?! Where were my friends? Only hours ago we were frolicking in the lush open pastures, smelling the sweet grass as yearlings should, our mothers watching nearby. That was before they came; two legged beasts with leather contraptions to fit into our tender mouths, to make them bloody and sore! To think, I had been parading around that very day, kicking about like a weanling; they couldn't hurt me! Oh, how very _wrong_ I was!

At first, I didn't notice we were being gathered. It looked like any other feed day. Naturally, I wanted the good grain, so I tussled, shoved and bit my way to the front of the fray, scattering the other colts in expectation of the finest feed available. Instead, the monstrous thing threw an old dry rope around my neck and jerked it with aggressive force. It had happened; I was being taken!

I jumped and pranced, lunging at the human but he just tightened the rope until it cut away at my shining chestnut hide, dampening it with blood. When I ceased to struggle, he forced a leather contraption over my head, and a cold, split metal bar into my mouth that tore at my tongue. I wanted to spit it out, so nasty it tasted; but he hit my face and pushed it further back, cutting into my soft gums.

In shock, I screamed for my mother and my friends, who were also being harangued. A little black filly with a sorrel star on her forehead that had been my playmate since foal days toppled over in fright as she tried to escape, receiving a brutal slap from a leather strap.

I jumped and plunged, aching for the safety of my dear mother's side. Through the craze, I spotted her, a brilliant sight with her ears pinned, teeth bared while two humans tried to subdue her, her long, graceful neck arched high in protest as she screamed to the heavens for me.

"No," I cried and started at the sting of something slapping my rump and was forcefully led away.

Slam! They had put a cloth over my eyes so I couldn't see and they led me to a cold room with dank floors, shutting me in with an intimidating bang. I shivered and backed into another horse that bit me hard enough to make me jerk about.

"Watch yourself!" he screeched, stamping his hoof.

"Sorry…" I whimpered, ducking my head.

I hated the cloth; it was supposed to calm me, yet I hadn't the faintest idea where I was. I wasn't home; where were my mother and the rest of my friends? Where was that beautiful black filly and the field we had danced across like wind-bound feathers?

Struggling, I managed to tear the cloth away.

"Oh no!" I panicked with a whinny, rearing up and kicking out; I was enclosed in a dark pitiful space with a large number of my kind, with barely any room to stand.

A drop of water fell from the leaky roof and onto my once-shining coat; I sidestepped as if the floor had turned molten.

"Pipe down, ya rube!" an old horse snorted.

"Where are we?" I wondered. "Why aren't we at home?"

"Because _they_ want us." The old horse replied.

"Who's they?"

"The two legged vermin who brought you here. If you're lucky, you'll be sold; if not, you'll be slaughtered. I would not hope much for the former."

My eyes rolled with fright.

"But we must get out!"

Those around me wuffled with laughter.

"Are you mad, horse? They have dogs who will chew the hide off of you!"

"But-"

"No, you calm that princely face of yours; there's no use trying to help yourself."


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know how long it had been since my capture. The dread and din of the days, accompanied by the haunting, merciless nights, all spent in this cramped room. The times at pasture were sporadic; everything began to run together.

Chewing apathetically on moldy grain, I paused, aching with hunger. How long had it been? Not too long, I thought, but I had most certainly lost weight. My coat felt soiled, caked with dirt and mud, along with remnants of dried blood; it must have looked most lackluster. There were burrs in my mane and tail but I did not have the gumption to pick them out.

All around me were cries of anger, discontent, fear, and yes, of anguished death. Many of my fellow horses had been forced to stand in their own filth; it infected them, making them dangerously ill. Sometimes, one would crash and clatter, having given up to the torture. Other times, if one was still struggling, the two-leggeds would walk up to it and make a racketous bang; then the horse would collapse lifelessly to the floor before being hauled off to the dogs. It was enough to make me wish for death.

"Are you eating the rest of that?" a young, famished gelding snorted.

"It's moldy and abhorrent."

"I'll take it then," he nickered, moving to the small pile of feed that I had been given.

"It is utter _poison_." I remarked, pinning my ears.

"So? We will die anyway, and if we _do _make it, we'll be worked until we can't move."

"Why? I am not a mindless beast!"

"You have a lot to learn, Chestnut."

"I would _hope_ one of these _things_ has an ounce of good left in their empty soul."

The gelding shook, flinging bits of mud and grime into the stale air.

"Clearly you have been _spoiled_."

"Spoiled? I had a green pasture; isn't that something to be expected?"

The horse snorted and turned away.

* * *

They came again late that night, dropping bits of old hay on the ground for us.

"It's moldy," I said to the human, pinning my ears and snorting with disdain.

He paid no attention; in irritation, I reached out and landed a sound bite on his shoulder.

"What the-" the human cried, backing away.

"It's _moldy_, you _fool_!" I lunged again, just missing him as my hooves thundered to the floor.

The thing regained himself and cuffed the soft spot on my nose. That was the last indignity; I was wild, eyes rolling, and I plunged and stamped, catching the human with my front legs. He yelled and screamed, but I kept on until he cried no more.

Sides heaving, I looked down at the crushed, motionless, bloody pulp before me.

"What have you done?!" a nearby horse asked fearfully. "You have _killed_ him!"

"You were right," I hissed, pawing at the floor, nodding my head. "They are _demons_, the lot of them."


	3. Chapter 3

The damnable corpse lay prone on the floor, stinking up the entire place until some time the next morning. Only when one of the handlers came in to feed us was the body found.

"Wha' the bleedin' hell iziss?" he asked aloud, peeking down at the prone form on the floor. "Who blastin' did i'?"

The horses around me let out low wickers of dissent and one boldly nipped my rump. Startled, I jumped forward into the dim light.

"You!"

Only then did I notice that I must have been splattered with blood from the incident.

"Mongrel!" the human reached for me and I pulled away, rearing up; but he was too quick and had a rope around my neck before I came down, giving it a rough tug.

"Stop!" I sputtered and gasped. "Get off of me!"

"Beast!" it shouted, pulling on the rope; I resisted, dragging him several feet before I jerked hard enough to pull the rope from its grasp.

In an upset, the other horses backed away and I dashed wildly about, hurling into the other animals, puffing and snorting until something caught the end of the rope and jerked me sharply off of my feet. Landing painfully on my back, I screamed and struggled to get up, feeling a splitting pain throughout my body.

Just as I regained footing, the rope was pulled with such force that I nearly stumbled once more. That wretched _thing_ had a hold of it and had every intent of dragging me out the door. The whites of my eyes were visible, but the searing pain that I was experiencing was too much for me to fight. Struggling with my footing on the slick, miasmic, rubbish-covered floor, I followed the man outside, terrified of what was to happen.

"Oi, Beckett! This 'ere fink dun away wif yo' new hire!"

A tall, burly, red-haired man walked up behind us and looked me over.

"This one?"

"Yeh, lookit 'im."

The one called Beckett looked me over, paying close attention to the bloodstains on my hooves and legs. Taking a step toward me, he narrowly dodged one of my lunges.

"Eh, he's half-dead anyway. Take him out back and do away with him."

_Half dead?!_ I wondered, cocking my ears back and forth. _Certainly not! Starving, but not half dead! And I will not become food for your mangy hounds!_

Before I could form another thought, I was pulled to the back of the barn, tied to a stake and made to wait as the human fetched one of those dreadful things that made a horrible snapping noise.

I managed to keep my composure until he aimed the thing at me. The sound of it being cocked piqued my panic and I moved just enough to avoid being hit, reeking of fear.

"Aw, damn yew!" the human growled.

Again, he took aim and the shot hit me right in the shoulder.

"Aaauhhh!" I shrieked, too afraid to feel the pain even though I could smell fresh blood in the air. Pulling free from the pole, I headed off at a breeze as far as my legs would carry me, not turning to see if the humans followed.

When the shock wore off, I found myself outside of a neighboring cottage. The burning sensation of the shot had caught up with me, and I whined, breaking into a sweat, stumbling about, the hideous rope hanging from my neck, dragging on the ground. I could barely walk properly and settled shakily in a patch of grass outside the cottage, hovering near unconsciousness until I could fight no more.

* * *

Splash! I shivered and awakened, dimly aware of a person's form just feet from me.

"Good; yer alife then…"

I grumbled and snorted weakly. What was this pathetic human doing before me?

"Pritty tussled up." It continued. "That bullet will need to be removed if yer to walk."

_Bullet? What nonsense is this human talking about_?

Then a crippling pain washed over me. I couldn't move.

"All righ' I'll fixit."

_You?! Fix me?! Oh no, dear man…_

"All righ' calm down yeh."

"I think not!" reaching out, I made to nip at the thing but he swatted me away.

"Calm down, yeh!"

I shied, but the man produced another leather contraption and slipped it over my headand I stopped; this wasn't nearly as restricting as the other ones were.

"What are you doing?" I eyed him suspiciously.

"Dun' move now…" he got up and went back to the cottage, returning shortly with a handful of metal instruments and a bottle of liquid.

"Here ya go," it said, opening the bottle of liquid; it smelled like some grotesque chemical.

I turned my head but he managed to force the stuff down my mouth.

_Yuck!_ I moved my head wildly about as the liquid burned my mouth.

I struggled for several minutes until I experienced a strange feeling of numbness and then a sharp pain; he was pouring the stuff over the wound on my shoulder.

_What on earth…?!_

"Jist a minute now…"

The human produced a metal thing that looked distantly like a blunt pair of scissors and jammed it into the wound.

_Are you mad?!_

I whinnied, more from the shock of seeing what the human was doing, though the hurt had been dulled.

"There we are; s'all out. Still hafta patch yeh up."

Glancing down at the bloody lead ball the human held in its hand. I felt anger well up inside me.

_Nefarious scum! I shall destroy them all!_

"Yeh all righ', boy?"

My attention turned back to the man before me.

_Well, maybe not you… you can stay, for now._


	4. Chapter 4

I was allowed several days to heal, convalescing behind the small cottage. The man had been good to me, offering fresh water and bran. He even covered me with an old blanket when one of the nights grew chill. Not once did he try to apprehend me.

On the fourth morning of my stay, the sun had risen with a warm glow. I greedily basked in the light nearly forgetting about my stitched wound and dropped to the ground for a luxurious roll in the grass.

_Oh the sweetness! Oh…. Ouch!_ I got up immediately, whining at the pulling, stinging pain in my shoulder.

"Oi! Careful there," the man stepped out from the back door of the cottage.

"You again?" I snorted. "You're interrupting my _roll_."

"There there, let me see it," he said, putting a leather strap-contraption around my face.

"I am perfectly capable of standing here without that _thing_!" I moved my lips, showing my teeth. "Get it off, will you?!"

"Now now, let me have a _look_."

The man coaxed me to stand still while he looked at my stitches.

"You seem all-right. I should be able to take them out in a few days. No lollyin' about, yeh?"

"I'm _not_ a foal!" I pawed the ground.

"All right then, I'll leave you be; water is fresh by the side of the house."

The man untethered me and retreated back inside.

I swung my head back and forth, watching him leave. The cottage and small pasture were nice, I had to admit. Humble, but a far comfort from where I had previously been. But if I stayed much longer, I knew I would just end up with more ropes and leather. Surely that man would try to break me sooner or later. My mother had spoken to me about such a thing ever so briefly late into my foalhood. I was misbehaving, bullying another foal, and she took me aside, nipping me roughly on the rump.

"My son, you must learn to be gentle and kind." she chided. "Some day, you will have a master, and will have to follow his orders. If you're fortunate, he will treat you well, give you a good home, and fine food. But if he should not, you shall remain kind, regardless of how he treats you."

"Why?" I asked, young and naïve as I was. "What is a master? Why do I need a master?"

"Every horse has a master eventually," she continued. "Soon, you too, will have one."

"But why? Won't you be there?"

My mother blinked, her large brown eyes boring into me.

"My dear, it is our place to work with humans. Man can be cruel, dear one. But you must _always_ be _kind_ and _gentle_. That is what we are here for."

"I thought we were meant to run in the pasture and play." I jested. "Mother, won't I always get to play?"

"I hope so…"

My mother's words echoed in my mind and I grew angry.

"Be kind and gentle," I wuffled, swishing my tail. "It's a little late for that!" I screamed to the heavens. "I KILLED A MAN! Did you hear that? _I killed a man_!"

I was so filled with fury that I danced around the pasture, stepping lightly on the ground and tossed my head.

"And I don't regret it one bit!"

It rained for the next two days; the man made good and kept me under a blanket and moved me to a covered area on the side of his cottage, eventually removing my stitches around early evening.

"Uhhh…" I moaned drunkenly from the liquor he had given me to dull the pain.

"Easy there, fella," the man murmured, dabbing at the wound with a rag. "Tuck up, will ya?" he continued, noticing that I had lost my inhibitions. "There's no mares about and you're too young anyway."

I was too delirious to comply and it took several minutes for me to gather up; my stomach gurgled with hunger and I nipped at the man's sleeve.

"Oh no, not yet. But you can have water."

Helping me over to the water bucket, he watched as I slopped at the water with clumsy delight, splashing it all around me.

"Get some rest tonight. We leave tomorrow for the city."

I looked up in surprise.

_City? Why the city? I like it here…_

"I can't keep yeh. As much as you'd help out around here, I don't have the coin to keep a horse like you."

"What? You're just going to sell me off like a common _mule_?!" I squeaked, pinning my ears. "How could you?! I could end up a worthless, beaten nag with broken knees or be some wenchy horse who gives mindless rides to little heathen children until my back sways." My mind raced. Or, I could end up in the slaughterhouse! No! I'm not going!"

I began to prance.

"Easy boy," the man tried to coax.

"Absolutely not! I am NOT leaving, and if it means your hide, then so be it!" I cried, rearing up.

"Stop! You'll do yourself worse!" he cried.

I came crashing down and my shoulder rippled with pain.

"I hate you, _human_!" I wheezed.

"I have _no_ choice!" he cried before turning away.

I was left alone as the rain continued to drop in icy sheets from the sky.


	5. Chapter 5

I was still angry when the two-legged returned for me early in the evening with leather.

"Come on, now…"

"I don't think so," I whined as I took a step back.

"I don't want to do this, yeh know?"

"Because you're different from the others," I snorted condescendingly.

"I'll try to find yeh a good home, all righ'?"

_Like hell you will!_ Lunging forward, I ripped contraption from his hands and swung it about wildly.

"Try to get it now," I teased wickedly, prancing with the thing clamped in my mouth.

The man was smarter than I thought; producing another rope, he flung it about my neck and pulled me in.

"Now yeh listen an' yeh listen _good_. I don't want any trouble. I'd keep yeh if I could, but that isn't an option. Don't make this any harder on me or you kin be sure yeh won' find a good master. Understand, yeh?"

I stared at him with a wrathful glint in my eyes until slowly, I began to understand him and pricked my ears forward, allowing the rope to fall limply around my neck.

The man smiled a sad smile and led me over to the side of the house.

"Yeh'll need a good brushin' to impress 'em, I suppose. Gotta let that coat o' yers shine."

It was hours before sundown when we left. The man led me behind an old grey nag of some sort that looked too late for the slaughterhouse. Some length along the road, I needed to relieve myself and stopped where I was, lifted my tail and finished my personal business. The grey horse looked at me and scoffed.

"What now?" I asked with a gruff snort.

"You young ones always have to take the time to stop."

"Well pardon me then, for having to _relieve_ myself."

"Eh, you're better than some of the others."

"What others?" I asked curiously.

"Never mind that. You will learn soon enough, who you want and who you don't."

We rested for only a few hours that night and continued on until midday, where we reached the city, the king's throne, London. It was a sight unto itself, bustling with people. However, the stench of the place reached my delicate nostrils first and I immediately despised the air. Looking around, I noticed broken horses, dead, lying on the side of the road, their bodies bloated, with stinking liquids dripping from their noses. Was this to be my fate? God, I hoped not!

There were men dressed in fine textiles next to men who wore naught but rags, just short of nakedness, making deals that were less than legal. We even happened across a fine looking lady, who, I found out shortly after she approached the man leading me, was a simple streetwalker, looking for some coin.

"Devils, the lot of them!" I hissed, pawing at the ground.

"Come on, there's no time to stop." the man urged, pulling at my reins.

"Curse it, I'm _hungry_!" I whined; no use, he urged us on until we reached a dock where a small circle of horses stood around, looking too nervous to move, flicking their tails about. They looked like a group of yearlings, freshly torn from their dams.

"There you be," said the man, leading me to the group.

"Liar!" I screamed, rearing up. "You said I would go to a _good home_! What is this? A pack of mules, bound for the knacker?! You care not!"

"No! Please!" he pulled at the reins, forcing me down. "There are good men here!"

"Is this him?" a middle-aged man with reddish hair interrupted my fit.

"This is," my leader replied.

"I thought you meant the other one," the other man spoke, gesturing to the old grey.

"No, he is all I can afford. This one is young and able, but needs much care. Please, give him the fineries."

"Mmm…" the red-haired man grumbled, taking my reins.

"Please, I beg you."

"He's a horse. He'll get what he gets." He spoke roughly. "You didn't pay for fine velvet."

My leader looked crestfallen.

_Well don't just stand there; do something! Reason with him!_ I thought bitterly.

There was no time to act, for the red-haired man pulled me away and led me onto a plank of a cargo ship that creaked under my weight. I grew nervous on the last foot of it and stepped back.

"Git on!" the man hollered, pulling at the reins.

"Ouch!" I squealed as the metal bar cut suddenly into my gums, and came to a halt.

"Oh no you don't!" the two legged slapped my neck harshly; I jumped, which was apparently the wrong reaction, for I received another whack on my rump and was manhandled until I reached the deck of the ship. The boat rocked with a jarring rhythm as the wind began to pick up and I began to feel my stomach churn.

"Get movin'! Yer goin' belowdecks!"

"Are you mad?!" I snorted.

"I said _get movin'_!" he howled, producing a stick with a leather strap on the end of it and brought it harshly down upon my rump.

The pain was stinging and cruel; I screamed but was forced belowdecks. The space was dark and cramped, and I could smell the sour, acidic scent of sickness in the rank air. My eyes rolled but I kept walking where he pulled me, feeling more and more ashamed as I realized I was trudging through a combination of rubbish and feces. The humiliation!

We reached a small stall on one end of the ship and the man quickly put me in cross ties.

"No more trouble, yeh hear? Raise one pretty hoof and we'll take yeh straight to the slaughterhouse!"


	6. Chapter 6

I must have spent several days on that ship, with short breaks on land at various auctions. The scoundrels tried to present me as something worthy to sell off, but I was still thin and terribly bitter-minded. To make matters worse, the time aboard ship had made me feel ill, and I sweated and shook.

"_Move_!" a two-legged hissed at me, hitting my rump to urge me forward where the other horses were standing on display to be sold.

"Have a care, will you?" I snorted. "I'm bloody sick!"

Again, the man slapped my rump while another human pulled roughly at the bar in my mouth. The pain made me jerk my head back.

"I said _git_!" the man behind me shouted, hitting me hard with a leather strap.

My temper frayed and I turned at the human, pulling my reins free and attacked him with vicious snaps, and bit him soundly on the forearm.

"Aaahhhh!" he howled.

I charged him again but lost my footing on a rock and crashed to the ground.

"Get him out of here! He ain' worth nuthin'!"

"No! You will not _touch_ me!" I screamed, and fought my way back on my feet.

Four humans came to the man's aid and dragged me away back to the ship.

Once again, I was belowdecks and collapsed on the old straw, trembling and ravenous with hunger.

"Horse!" a young voice called from somewhere in the darkness.

Numbly, I pricked an ear in the direction of the sound.

_Not another one…_

A boy stepped into the light. He wore light blue trousers with holes in the knees, and a light brown vest with no shirt underneath. His blond hair was stringy, with dirt clinging to the tresses.

"Ya hungry?"

"Not this trick," I whined.

He retreated for a moment and returned with a handful of the finest grain on the ship.  
"Hurry, or I'll get a whippin'." he urged in a whisper.

I stared at him for a moment, stunned by the kind gesture, but grateful all the same.

"Quickly now, eat up!" the boy repeated, tossing the grain at my feet.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading belowdecks and the boy disappeared behind a stack of kegs. I managed to eat the grain just before the men stopped to inspect the horses.

"Get 'im outta here." one of the two-leggeds ordered.

I watched as two men entered a stall near mine and dragged out the fresh corpse of a dead horse. From the looks of it, the animal was in the prime of its life, struck down by disease and malnourishment.

Once the horse was disposed of, the men came to my stall.

"Don' get too close, Wesley; he's a nasty sort. Shoulda been gelded, methinks.

I flattened my ears as the one called Wesley took a step toward me.

"Eh, jus' hasn't been broken properly. Yeh've been too soft on him; needs the whip, he does."

I pawed anxiously at the floor while Wesley retreated to another stall only to return with a thin rod that had a long bit of rope attached to it.

"Take him out, Luke," Wesley ordered.

Luke, a tall, rail-like man with oily brown hair stepped forward and reached for my reins; I moved to lunge but he hit me on my nose and threw my senses off. I staggered and was pulled forward out of the stall.

"Pick yer head up, _mule_," Wesley ordered.

My mouth burned and I could not respond. The man grunted impatiently and struck with the whip. I let out a bloodcurdling scream and jumped, nearly falling on my forelegs. Never had I been hit so harshly! I could feel the rope cut into me, ripping into the sensitive flesh near my croup.

"Pick yer head up!" Wesley repeated, pulling the whip back for another strike but I struggled and held my head up just in time. "Now _walk_."

Dazed, I took a step forward; my left leg shook horribly and I was afraid I would crumple.

"Walk, dammit!" Wesley shouted, striking my chest with the whip.

I couldn't even cry for the pain; my eyes rolled with the agony and blood seeped from the fresh wound. I could feel a small flap of skin hanging from the left side of my chest.

_Fight him;_ _kill_ _him_! a voice inside me screamed.

"You lazy dog!" Wesley cried, bringing me back to my senses; surely he would strike me again, but this time, I was ready.

The man bought the whip back and then lashed forward, missing by a mere inch as I stepped toward him and into his private space. Forgetting the whip in his hand, Wesley backed up, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"Luke! Don't just stand there, get him!"

Luke, who had been standing with a stupefied expression on his face, came to his senses, but before he could apprehend me, the boy came out from behind the barrels and tackled him to the ground. Luke gave a yell, but the boy quickly overcame him, landing a blow to his head and knocked him unconscious. By this time, I had Wesley backed against the wall of my stall.

"I'll shoot you meself!" he hissed on his last nerve, brandishing a weapon.

I let out a horsey laugh; the thing's hands were shaking so badly I was surprised the loaded stick didn't misfire.

_You really are out of your class,_ I thought, rearing up.

The thing fired, narrowly missing my side as I bore down upon the man. It was over in seconds; the work was clean and he moved no more.

"You…"

I looked over at the boy who was standing over the one called Luke. He gazed at me with an expression of awed fearfulness and I wuffled, trying to assure him that I meant no harm.

"We've got to do away with him or they'll certainly shoot you." he said with eager urgency.

He stepped lightly over to me and tried to pick Wesley up.

"Damn, he's a fat one!" the boy exclaimed. "I don't suppose you can understand me, but would you mind helpin' out a bit?"

I cocked my head in curious confusion.

"Ya know, git him over there…" he pointed to the other end of the ship.

After a moment of no comprehension, the boy slumped his shoulders in defeat and took it upon himself to heave the man's body to the other side of the ship and dump it into the ocean. Luke was still out cold and as soon as he had done away with Wesley, the boy took him to the upper decks and explained to the others that he had passed out drunk.

_Curious lad, he is…Oh!_, I whimpered in pain and looked down at the gash in my chest. You're never going to get sold in this shape.

"Horse! Over here!" the boy called as he stepped down the stairs, producing a small medical kit.

"I do hope you know what you are doing," I snorted.

"Me Mam taught me how to sew; I en't done it in a while, but we'll see, yeh?"

_You have got to be joshing me…_ I nodded my head. _You'll probably poke the needle right through my eye!_

"First thing's first… _whisky_," he spoke with a little too much enthusiasm for my taste.

Before I could fight, the boy jammed the bottle into my mouth and forced the liquid down and waited until I began to feel loose.

"All right, the nasty bit. Hold still."

The boy must have given me twice the amount of alcohol needed for I hardly felt a thing and my tongue lolled out of the side of my mouth as he cleaned and stitched the wound.

"All right, good as any," he said brightly once he finished.

I grunted in response, blinking sleepily in the din.

"No more trouble, yeh? I gotcha outta this one. I en't sure I can do it again."


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning dawned an hour earlier than I had expected; luckily I appeared inconspicuous enough so that when the stable hands started a ruckus upon noticing that one of them was missing, I did not receive the brunt of their frustration. At least, not at first.

"It's 'im, I swears," spoke a man named Oliver. "Everyone knows 'e's a tosser. Should be gelded, that one. One little snip 'n 'e'll be gay as anything."

"Gelded?" I squeaked. "_Gelded_?!"

"Oo's gonna dewit?" asked another two-legged who was busy attending to a nearby horse; the poor nag was so weak it was leaning against the wall of the ship.

"Oi will." the one called Oliver replied before looking over at me. "Snip snip, yew…" he murmured, gesturing with his fingers in a scissor-like motion.

I picked up my head and pinned my ears, bobbing up and down, and bared my teeth. Before I could continue with my plan to upend the man, my stomach gave a horrible groan and I looked down disgustedly at the old hay before, munching mindlessly until I was sated. Oliver was still looking at me, sizing me up.

"Eh, we'll see af'er supper, late in the evening'."

With the evening feeding came a surprise; instead of the cuddy bits of straw I was usually given, the workhand gave me decent hay, mixed with some oats to sweeten the meal. Still, I was wary and took a moment to sniff at the food. The oats smelled sweet and rich, the hay fresh as I sniffed it with hearty delight. Deeming the food sufficient for eating, I all but inhaled my supper, slopping foam onto the outside of my mouth before drinking with self-serving need from of an old trough in the corner of my stall, swishing my disheveled, knotted tail in carefree contentment. For a moment, I was back in the pasture, a yearling, free to do as I pleased, to run in the open pasture and nip at whomever I might desire to upstage for my own true enjoyment.

Shortly after eating, I found myself drifting off into a much-needed rest, unaware that I was actually experiencing the effects of a sedative one of the men had laced into my meal.

It was near midnight when I began to come around. My vision was hazy and I stumbled uncoordinatedly in my stall, landing with a heavy fall against one of the walls and let out a drunken whine.

"Good lord, what is happening?" I moaned, flicking my ears about, trying to sniff the air and gain a sense of my surroundings.

"Yup, he's ready," a voice nearby called.

_Who…?_ I turned my head dumbly toward the source of the voice and snorted. The man smelled of tobacco and perhaps, weak liquor, the latter of which I could not clearly discern. I could tell he was carrying a flame with him by its dim glow.

Attempting to move away from the wall, I felt a rope being thrown over my head and around my neck, but my senses were still not with me; I could not fight.

"Come on, now," the man spoke with a rough edge, tugging at the rope.

I had sense enough to plant my hooves, but not to fight the thing; I terribly needed to relieve myself and wasn't about to wait for some ruddy man to pull me out of the stall. So, I lifted my tail and took care of myself with a loud snort and groan.

"Stalling, are you?" the human accused, stepping close to my face; too close; I lifted my head away from him and rolled my eyes.

"I said _come_." he jerked the rope and I was forced forward.

The workhand led me to the other side of the ship, tying me between some makeshift posts with a heavy bed of straw to stand in.

"You wait here, and _don't_ try anythin' _stupid_."

The human's bluff would have amused me, but I did not have time to delight in his foolishness, for as soon as he disappeared, he returned with a freshly sharpened knife, whose point glistened in the firelight. I remained dull and unresponsive until he began to clean me.

"Just what the bleeding hell do you think you're doing?!" I yowled, knocking against the posts as I waved my head about in a panic.

Oliver slapped my side in response and continued his work, squeezing me roughly.

"Get your hands _off of me_!" I squealed, bumping one of the posts hard enough to make it topple; unfortunately, this made one of the ropes attached to my halter go with it, sending me falling onto my side.

The human howled with frustration and reached to slap my rump; in a drugged fit, I lunged, missing the man considerably, yet it was enough to startle him and he retreated, leaving me lying tied to the two posts with bits of hay strewn about. Feeling dizzy and paranoid, I writhed where I fell until sleep overtook me.

* * *

"Psst… oi! Horse! S'me…"

I awoke with a terrible ache in my body, blinking through gooey eyes. There stood the boy, right before my face, looking anxious and excited.

"I think you's gonna be sold today, yeh."

_Sold_? I wondered, shaking my head.

"Heard about yo' li'l mishap wif the knife las' nigh'. Guess they still wonna get rid o' yeh."

I stared at him, nonplussed. The news was hardly anything to be cheerful about.

"Well, we should brush ya up. Then you'll fetch good coin, 'n maybe a good master too."

I snorted with disbelief but by the time I moved to protest, the boy was eagerly gathering a set of brushes.

"Oh, almos' fergot," he said, pulling a smashed handful of knotted hay. "Needs a good breakfast, too. Go on, now…"

I munched on the straw, savoring it with as much restraint as I could whilst relishing the feel of the deft brushstrokes upon my mane, sides, back and rump. Carefully, the boy worked out each knot in my mane and tail, and stroked my hide until it glistened. My ribs still showed, but it was a far cry from the rotten mess I had recently become. A tiny ray of pride glimmered within me and I tossed my head, grateful for his kind gesture.

"All right; they'll be comin' fer yeh soon. No rollin', no fussin'. Yeh have to fetch a purdy coin, yeh? Don' bugger this chance."

Just as the boy said, the men came; I became tense when I saw the leather straps they wielded but remembered the boy's advice to not ruin my opportunity with a temperamental upheaval, so I let them come to me and collect me.

One of the workhands swatted my rump lightly with a strap as if to test me. I pinned my ears, dearly wishing to repay him with a bite but one glance at another workhand, who bore an even larger whip, kept me in balance.

We made it abovedeck and down the plank, which creaked under my first few steps. I shied momentarily but one of the men grabbed the reins and urged me forward as a familiar stench wafted up to my nose; we had arrived back in London.

"All right, there yeh go," a workhand said gruffly, grouping me near the landing with several other horses who were to be sold off.

One of them, a young mare who had the fortune of looking fine and healthy, was sold almost immediately, with a promise to return the favor by giving the seller her first foal. Next was a grey gelding; he hardly looked fit for simple riding, but perhaps life as a plough horse, or wagon-horse would do. Rightly so, he went to a middle-aged merchant who had his business just north of London.

The hour passed midday and soon turned into evening. Ruckus on the streets had begun to die down, but not a soul had looked at me. I wilted inwardly, drooping my head and stood listlessly, resting on my back left hoof.

"You're just bad luck, en't yeh?" Oliver drawled, walking up to me to lead me back on to the ship.

"Wait right there," a crisp voice spoke from some distance away. "I want to have a look at him."

The sharp, rich tone of the voice held a sense of confidence that caught my attention and I picked my head up to see whom it belonged to.

_Splendid… a soldier_, I thought bitterly, moving my lips in irritation.

The man was young, but not so young, dressed in a newly tailored uniform of red and green, with polished brass buttons, hair braided and wrapped in a severe military queue. His mouth was set in a serious manner, somewhere between a scowl and a grimace, but it was his eyes that caught me. They had seen trouble, loss and sorrow, just as I had.

"Sir, he's jus' worthless. Don' bother-"

"I _will_ bother if it pleases me to do so!" the man spoke sharply.

"All ri' then," Oliver spoke reluctantly.

I watched the man approach, each stride quick and assured, and was made uneasy by the ring of the spurs on his boots. Nervously, I danced in place.

"Shh…" he put a finger to his lips and held out his hand for me to sniff.

_Not this again_, I thought, taking a step back.

The man's eyes narrowed, showing a colder side to his demeanor.

"Come here," his voice sounded gentle enough, but that hauntingly hollow, icy stare did not leave.

Reluctantly, I reached out and nudged his hand; his look softened and he cupped my nose, rubbing it gently. I took in his smell of faint smoke, pub drinks and a hint of woody trail.

"He is not gelded then?" the man asked suddenly, disrupting my reverie.

"No sir, he wouldn't let us near 'im."

"Wise decision," the man murmured humorously in my ear. "You really don't want to be a virgin your entire life," he chortled.

I cocked my head in confusion.

"He's underweight."

"He won't let us feed 'im," Oliver reasoned. "But 'e'll be a good workin' horse. Just needs a firm hand."

"Well he'd better learn to tolerate gunfire."

"Sir you don' mean to take 'im overseas, do yeh? He won' even make the trip."

"Oh he _will_ make the trip." the soldier replied in a challenging tone. "Yes, I will take him, but I shall have to ask you to decrease your price by fifteen guineas for poor condition."

"Sir-"

The man cast Oliver a severe look and he clamped his mouth shut.

"All ri'. I need yer name firs'."

"Tavington," the man replied with a tone of irritation, raising the corner of his mouth in a sneer.

"William then," Oliver relaxed. "Knew yer father-"

"Shut your _mouth_, peasant!" the Tavington human barked.

The workhand shrank back and after exchanging monies, handed the man my reins. I glanced at my new master warily. He had shown plain disrespect to my handlers, yet treated me decently enough. What was I to think? Could I trust this new human who would now be my keeper?

**A/N: Just a disclaimer: 'Gay' is not used in a derogatory manner in this chapter.** **It is intended to mean 'happy and light'.**


	8. Chapter 8

The man who was now my 'master' let me away at a brisk pace, holding firmly to my reins, snaking in and out of the evening crowds. Twice, I attempted to pull back on the lead, still overwhelmed by the unfolding events, but he gave the reins a swift jerk that set me back to obedience, and we continued on.

A time later, we reached a semi-dilapidated set of stalls at the back of an old pub. An immediate feeling of distaste began to settle in me until he led me to a warm bed of hay and a trough of fresh, lukewarm water.

"Make yourself comfortable; we leave early in the morning." the soldier spoke with an air of patronizing sternness.

I pricked an ear in his direction, confused by the good bedding paired with the man's intimidating demeanor. Stretching out my neck, I nipped his shoulder and mewed in surprise when he returned with a harsh swat to the side of my neck.

"None of _that_," he hissed.

Crestfallen, I cast him a look of hurt, dipping my head low and stared at the ground.

Tavington, as he was called, stared at me unblinkingly before letting out a shallow breath.

"I suppose you are a bit roughed up," he admitted. "The hay is fresh; I shall have some oats for you tomorrow."

With a minimal nod, the man turned and left, entering the pub through a back door.

The straw was still warm; normally, I would have taken rest standing, but feeling so terribly worn out as I was, I fell unceremoniously upon the bed and settled, lulled to sleep by the sounds of the London night.

* * *

Morning came with the buzz of a fly near my left ear; I shook it off and blinked into the early morning sunlight. For once, I did not feel ill from the rock of the ship, nor threatened by the horrible humans I had to share company with.

"You had best get up."

I looked to my right to see the soldier walking toward me with a pail of fresh oats. The sweet smell was so tantalizing that I began to salivate, and wuffled to urge him more quickly.

Tavington approached me and, as if to tease, took a small handful of the food, and set it into my feed bucket. I gave him a quizzical look.

"One bit at a time; the last thing I need is for you to founder on me." he scoffed.

I groaned but accepted the handful, eating with abandon until there was naught left.

"Well?" I blew, staring at the man.

"Eat that first," he said, motioning to the small amount of hay in my trough.

I ambled over to the feeder and sniffed at the hay.

_It doesn't smell right_…

I turned back to my master with a dissatisfied expression, extending my left foreleg out before me.

"If you're hungry, you'll eat it. Otherwise, no more oats." he replied in a strict voice, his eyes catching that cold edge before he added, "It won't harm you."

"I want those oats _now_," I whined, pawing the air at him.

The soldier stood, arms crossed, a bemused expression upon his intense features, and let me have my fit. It was no use; this human was _impossible_ to reason with. I even attempted to reach out and snap at him, but he dodged my advance and slapped me hard on the neck.

"I will provide for you, but you _will_ listen to me," he demanded in a low, rough voice.

Meeting him with an angry gaze of my own, I was prepared to eye him down, but was no match for his unblinking, suffocating stare.

"Go on," he murmured.

Reluctantly, I turned back to the trough and munched at the hay. It actually wasn't terrible, and I was able to overcome the smell, finishing with a satisfied nicker.

"There you are," Tavington spoke, holding out an upturned, closed fist.

I sniffed at it, immediately delighted that he was holding a small cube of alfalfa; I swished my tail in excitement, the smell of earthy plant filling my nostrils. Slowly, the soldier opened his hand and I accepted the delicacy, pausing only when he reached out his hand and stroked my nose, keeping his eyes trained on me.

"All right, you will be all right," he said in a quiet voice, rubbing me gently up and down my face, tracing a tiny scar near my left eye.

After a moment, Tavington pulled away and poured the rest of the oats into the trough.

"Good boy."


	9. Chapter 9

The sun hadn't even peeked upon the horizon when a voice called, "Up you get."

When I did not wish to respond, I was rewarded with a toss of cold water upon my neck and withers.

"Dear god, what is the meaning of _this_?!" I yowled, whinnying my distress, and shivered from the treacherously cold impact.

My master looked down at me with a pointedly haughty and arrogant expression.

"I told you, we have an early day."

_What is he thinking?! The sun has yet to rise; I am not going anywhere._ I decided, returning his look with stubborn protest.

"You _will_ get up _now_," he ordered.

"Or what?" I snickered, giving him a distasteful snort. "I'll gladly remove a finger if you don't feed me."

Tavington rewarded my pretentious behavior by firmly planting himself before me, crossing his arms and looking down at me through his nose.

"Nope, nope, _nope_! Not going to work," I nodded my head, coming to a reluctant stand.

The man took this to be a small victory and a smirk crept upon his lips.

_You think so_? I wondered before striking unexpectedly to land a light nip on his arm.

Tavington, taken aback, moved to slap me away, but I quickly pulled out of his range, laughing at him as I went dancing in my stall.

"All right, no food then," he recovered with a sour look upon his face, his lips turned to a frown and his eyes narrowed.

"But I'm _up_!" I cried, nodding my head once more.

"Not with _that_ show of manners. Petty foal…" he replied cuttingly.

I stood aghast, withering in the string of silence that passed between us. My belly rumbled but the damn thing just _stood there_!

"Calm yourself and you may eat," he encouraged, holding out his hand.

_No_, I thought, taking a step back.

The man remained where he was, hand held out in a truce.

"Will I really get food?" I nickered.

As if he were reading my thoughts, he opened his fist ever so slightly to reveal a small cube of alfalfa. My ears pricked excitedly and I started over to him, smelling and nosing his hand. After a moment, he allowed me to have the delicious treat.

"Now you may eat," he commented as he patted my neck.

I hardly had time to second-guess his motive before he gathered fresh hay for my trough, allowing me time to taste, savor, and salivate over the fresh produce. Once finished, I looked up at him and almost could have nipped myself if I saw laughter in his eyes; my mouth was covered in white spit-foam and my expression was one of drunken contentment.

"You're not going to get a mare with those habits," he chided.

A mare? The thought had hardly crossed my mind and when I did think about it, I shook it off. Who needed a mare anyway? They were such high-strung, difficult things. Mean when I was around them, mean when I wasn't around them. There was absolutely _no_ way to win with the female horses!

"Yes, a _mare_." Tavington called me back from my thoughts. "Once you've worked out a little, you should make a good cover.

"Excuse me? Am I to understand that you're going to have me mount one of those crazy beasts?" I mewed. "I believe you're sorely mistaken."

"You'll be on the battlefield first, of course," my master added matter-of-factly.

Battlefield? I had heard little about such things, but knew enough to understand that when horses went to this 'battlefield' they oftentimes came back with unspeakable stories and physical scars… if they came back at all.

"I am sure you will get used to it. We leave in a couple of days."

_Leave? Where?_, I cocked my head, trying to discern what my master was trying to say. I had heard talk of a war of sorts happening in the 'New World', as the countrymen called it. It was about independence from the Crown, and many believed the thing to be folly at best; but now the soldier wanted a part in this tomfoolery? Where was the sense in spending the day in a pasture and eating at one's leisure? Surely that was more appealing that risking it all on the battlefield.

"You will need to get used to gunfire and artillery." Tavington went on.

"Gun?" I whickered. "What is a gun?"

My master seemed not to notice my confusion and continued to discuss his plans while I stood by, staring blankly ahead of me.

_What on earth is a gun?_


	10. Chapter 10

That very afternoon, my work for my master commenced with training. My mother had called it 'bending the will'. Tavington led me to a nearby park, carrying a length of line with him and kept a leather strap tucked to his side.

Upon reaching the park, I was so enamored by the rich green grass that I neglected my master altogether and bent down, inhaling the sweetness around me.

"No."

My head was forcefully jerked upward, enough to surprise me, yet caused no pain. I found myself staring into smokey ice; the man refused to let me out of his gaze, clipping the line to my halter while he had my attention. He said not a single word; there was a wildness in his eyes that flickered just on the edges of his delicately blue irises. It would haunt me for years to come.

Tavington softened his stare and offered me his hand. Quaking inwardly, I sniffed at it, ears pricked at him. He was not forceful when he touched my nose, caressing the tender skin there and moved to the corners of my mouth. Then, as soon as he had touched me, he dropped his hand and stepped back, reaching for the leather piece.

_No.., no, NO!_

I bobbed my head but he shook the line, abruptly ending my fit and stared at me with a harsh expression.

"None of that," he touched my nose once more and stepped away, loosening the line while producing the leather. I felt myself take a step back; Tavington made a kissing sound and flashed the whip at me. Dancing left, I crushed the soft grass beneath my hooves. My master seemed pleased with the decision and flicked the line, flashing the whip at my rump.

"Walk," he ordered curtly.

There was no gentleness, or sentimentality, only a stone-cold gaze.

"_Walk_." he repeated with more insistence, flicking the short whip at my rump.

The colt in me wanted to disobey. Who was this louse to tell me how to move? Yet there was nothing silly or unsure about this man, so I stepped forward, turning my ears toward him and keeping an eye trained upon his face. Within a short while, I was walking in circles.

_How much longer?_ I flicked my tail. I wasn't hurt in any way, but if I was to walk in such a manner much longer, I would certainly be bored into stupidity.

Tavington appeared to notice my unease and lightly jerked the line with his wrist, changing the pressure using deft fingertips that felt out every ounce of tension in the line.

"Turn around," he directed me with the whip, which, I was slowly beginning to realize, possessed no harm. "Walk."

I snorted and stopped.

"This is _rubbish_," I whined.

"You cannot trot before you walk. Keep going." the soldier flicked the lines and flashed the whip especially close to my rump.

Immediately, I danced my way into a jaunt, my neck lathered in sweat.

Tavington lowered his whip and I relaxed into a more manageable gate, pleased when I noticed that the nonplussed stare had melted away for the tiniest moment.

"Trot," he commanded, keeping the whip at his side but within my sight.

I broke into a rocky gait, ears moving wildly about. Immediately, there was a brusque pull on the line and I came to an awkward halt.

"That was _terrible_," Tavington chastised, looking sourly at me. "What do you think you are, a _youngling_?" he snapped. "You must be smooth; don't torture your rider; good lord..."

Again, he put me at a trot and again, I was halted.

"Lazy mule, quit dragging your front feet. You are a _stallion_, not a _whelp_."

I must have worked at a simple smooth trot for nearly an hour, being snapped at and ridiculed throughout. Yet, not once did he strike me. I had that much to say about this man in spite of his dour, unbecoming attitude.

By the end of the exercise, I was walking and turning on command. I still had a clot's trot, but the man did not seem irritated that I hadn't mastered the gait.

Calling me in, Tavington led me back to the new inn he had picked for the night and gave my coat a luxurious brushing. Of course, he spoke not a single word throughout the grooming. Perhaps he considered idle chatter to be child's prattle? I would grow used to his silence in the coming months, when he would become all but obsessively lost in thought.

"We will be late in rising tomorrow." Tavington spoke, pulling my attention away from the water bucket I had been so very engrossed in. "We shall begin at a walk."

With that, he fed me a square of alfalfa and turned in for the night.


	11. Chapter 11

The morning dawned cool and foggy, a noticeable contrast from the week. In this time, Tavington had continued to exercise me on the line. Surprisingly, I had improved. He concentrated especially on my form during a trot and took advantage of my natural abilities during the canter and gallop. I was still off my footing when turning directions back and forth, but my master, for all his harshness, remained refreshingly patient.

"Good morning," Tavington greeted me as he entered the small stable.

Still mushy from the tethers of sleep, I made an effort to poke my head into the walkway and prick my ears.

_This is your idea of 'late'? Oh blast…_

"No park today," my master informed me with a crisp voice, fetching my feed as he went. "I think you're ready to begin with saddling."

Confused, I cocked my head to the side and whined.

Tavington's look turned to a haughty edge.

"Make no mistake, you _will_ make use of yourself while in _my_ care."

_Not with that_, I pinned my ears.

My master ignored my affronted behavior and left me to eat.

"Saddling… pish-posh! Absolute rubbish!" I snorted, savoring my morning meal; the idea of bearing a human upon me was downright _revolting_!

Just as I was chasing down my meal with a self-serving slurp, the soldier returned, carrying a patch of cloth that would hardly cover my back.

"Oh this is just _wonderful_; foal clothes!" I mewed.

"We shall begin with the blanket." Tavington explained, gesturing to the cloth.

"That is not a _blanket_," I recoiled. "That is a _glorified rag_!"

My master stepped toward me and I stepped back, bobbing my head.

"Here," he held the thing out to me, "have a sniff."

The man was mad; he had to have been. Yet I saw no harm in appeasing him and stepped forward to examine the thing. It was fleece, musty-smelling from being stored away. A few loose threads hung from the corners.

"It's still a rag," I decided, nibbling a corner.

Tavington raised a brow and opened the stall door; I retreated half a step.

"Calm," he coaxed, offering me his hand; the gesture was enough to relax me before he presented me with the blanket.

_It's still a rag…_

Several minutes later, my master stepped past my shoulder and eased the thing up over my withers. It weighed very little and was hardly cumbersome. He studied me briefly before retreating from the stall.

"Not so bad," I sniffed, turning back to the bits of feed in my trough.

"None of that."

I looked up with a piece of hay poking out from the side of my mouth to see Tavington holding that horrid leather contraption in his hands. My nostrils flared and I made a guttural noise.

"Enough!" I pawed the stall floor.

My master paused, lowering the object in his hands. For a short while, he stared at me as if he were assessing my physical condition. Slowly, he set the leather down and offered his hand. I instinctively accepted it an he stepped back into the stall, running his hands along my nose and the corners of my mouth until my anxious twitching dissipated. Suddenly, he paused with his hands on my upper and lower jaws and pried my mouth open. I balked in surprise, screaming in his grip.

"Be still!" Tavington ordered.

"_Let go_!" I cried. "What are you doing?!"

Violently, I jerked my head upward but the man deftly released my lower jaw and let me come down, soothing me along the way.

"I just need a look at you. Damn foolish of me to stick the bit in your mouth if you've been damaged."

I was still pitching a fit when he spoke.

"Gentle…" Tavingotn moved his hand over my nose in an attempt to regain my trust. "Gentle, boy. Easy now…"

Reaching into his pocket, my master produced a tiny cube of sugar.

"Perhaps this will help, hm?" his lips curled.

I licked my lips excitedly, forgetting the task at hand. Such things were a rare delicacy for us to come by. Abandoning my position, I reached for the coveted treat and he held it out of my grasp.

"You will open your mouth then…"

Brushing a corner of the cube onto his finger, he held it to my nose and then to my lips where I zealously licked up the treat.

Still occupied by the sweet taste, I barely flinched when Tavington reached for me just as I finished tasting the sugar. With surprising strength, he opened my mouth to look inside; I was just regaining my bearings and had a notion to struggle when a thought came to me: I was not hurt. I had to trust that my master would do me well.

"There we are; good boy." the soldier hinted a rare smile as I waited patiently while he moved his fingers around the outer areas of my gums; he came upon a particular spot that made me shiver and whimper.

"Tender," he noted, pulling away.

I gave a disgruntled shake and he produced the rest of the sugar cube for me to enjoy.

"No matter, we will take the time we need." Tavington spoke, retrieving the contraption.

'_Oh no…_' worry crept into me and I lifted my head; the blanket slowly slid off my withers.

"Easy… calm down," the man encouraged, allowing me to acquaint myself with the leather while he adjusted the blanket.

With trepidation, I mouthed the metal bar attached to the leather pieces. It was a single bar, unlike the two-part piece I had first been introduced to. The leather was worn but oiled, polished and in workable condition.

"We'll have better ones once we reach the Colonies," Tavington spoke self-consciously, fiddling with his hands.

I was momentarily taken off guard. I thought all men to be cruel beasts inside, but to see this one in a moment of plain discomfort, red with shame and embarrassment… it touched me.

"Will you please just try the bit?" he asked. "I shall not pull you, but I request that you try it."

_It's cold_, I thought bitterly eying the thing with disdain. _And it's hard_.

Tavington lowered the bit, a look of irritation clouding in his eyes.

"I did not just buy a ruddy _plough-horse_!" he muttered tersely to himself.

Releasing an insolent scoff, I whipped my tail in defiance.

"All right then; I will return later and we shall try again…" Tavington reasoned, forcing a tone of light nonchalance.

With a stiff bearing, he removed the blanket and left my stall, setting the bit contraption upon one of the stall gate-posts.

"Good riddance," I huffed, "bits and all."

* * *

An hour passed by, then two. I was now certain that my master would not return until my feeding time, so I decided a sufficient roll on the floor of my stall was in order.

Kneeling on my forelegs, I ducked my head when a voice called, "Not yet!"

_Damn you! That could have been an excellent five minutes_!

Staggering to my feet, I attempted to look alert and ready, while my master cast me a disapproving look. He said nothing as he fetched the bit hanging from my stall post.

"All right," he breathed; I pinned my ears and bobbed my head.

Tavington made a clucking sound to get my attention. I turned back to him and he stroked my nose. His hands were always gentle here; they never sought to harm, even when he was at his angriest.

"Good boy," I felt him relax when I grew calm, pricking my ears toward him.

"Easy now," Tavington produced the leather; I stiffened.

"No, take a sniff," he held the thing still and allowed me to debate.

_He said he would not hurt me and thusfar, he has not,_ I figured.

The colonel remained patient, holding the bit until I had made my decision. Hesitantly, I reached out and sniffed the metal bar. It felt a touch warm and because my master kept still, it didn't appear as threatening.

After a minute or so of inspection, Tavington shifted and moved the bit, gliding it over my neck, mane and the side of my face. I shivered but he hushed my whimpers, continuing to move the bit along my face and neck, until, after an endless time, I accepted its presence and attempted to busy myself with swatting at a fly on my rump.

"Not yet," the soldier called me back to attention. "One more," he spoke, holding the bit out to me.

I sniffed it and in curiosity, reached out and bit down on it, realizing my mistake just as he grinned. However, Tavington did not force the thing further into my mouth but lowered it when I spit it out.

"Well done," he complimented, stroking my nose. "You're coming along quite nicely."

I nickered, sensing my master's pleasure, and felt pride that I was the cause of it.

Tavington backed out of the stall and rummaged through a leather bag.

"For your cooperation," he said, handing me a slice of apple, which I ate with delight while he prepared my meal.

"Heaven, just _heaven_," I slurped at the juice from the apple slice.

Moments later, Tavington had finished preparing my food.

"You did well today." he spoke to me. "Perhaps you're not a hopeless nag after all."


End file.
